


even a bad cup of coffee (is better than no coffee at all)

by vlieger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Derek and Laura stay in New York and open a coffee shop after the fire, and Stiles meets them when he moves there for college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	even a bad cup of coffee (is better than no coffee at all)

**Author's Note:**

> because another coffee shop au is exactly what this fandom needs, right?

"Black coffee with whipped cream and caramel on top, please," says the next guy in the line, and Derek snaps his head up.

He probably shouldn't make faces at his customers' orders, but-- seriously?

"Shut up," says the guy, grinning and flushing a little. "I know it's weird, but I really need my caffeine fix in the next five minutes, so if you could put aside your delicate barista sensibilities in the interest of my sanity, I'd really appreciate it."

Derek raises his eyebrows. The guy is vibrating slightly, wide-eyed and hopeful, almost pleading, and Derek should probably refuse him, like the coffee equivalent of cutting someone off, but well, Laura will kill him if he turns away a paying customer.

Instead he says, "I don't have delicate sensibilities," and, "Name?"

"So you're just judging me, then?" says the guy, and when Derek just looks at him expectantly, "Oh, uh, it's Stiles. My name."

"Stiles," echoes Derek, writing it dubiously on the cup and getting started on his frankly disgusting-sounding order. "You want milk or sugar with that?"

"No," says Stiles. "I may be overdosing on caffeine, but I'm not actually _stupid_. Only abuse one substance at a time, right?"

"I'm pretty sure that's not how they teach it," says Derek.

Stiles waves a hand. "They can't teach life experience, man," he says wisely, and Derek feels his mouth twitch against his will.

Stiles grins at him widely, and Derek ignores the automatic way his eyes catalogue the plush shine of his lips and the moles dotting his skin. So he's pretty, whatever. A lot of good-looking people come through Derek's coffee shop. He turns his concentration onto making Stiles' drink, unable to help the slight grimace as he finishes up with whipped cream and caramel.

"There," he says, sliding it across the counter. "Enjoy, I guess?"

"A less awesome person than me might be offended by how judgmental you are," says Stiles, taking a sip and sighing in satisfaction.

"Then they shouldn't get their coffee here," says Derek dismissively.

Stiles snorts, tipping his head back to laugh, and Derek tracks the long line of his throat involuntarily.

"You are definitely the grumpiest barista I've ever met," says Stiles when he's done laughing, eyes still creased up in a smile. "It's refreshing. I'll probably be back."

"Oh, great," says Derek flatly, which just makes Stiles snort again, hoisting his bag higher onto his shoulder as he heads back outside.

 

Stiles is back the next morning.

"The usual!" he says brightly.

"You've bought coffee here once," says Derek. "I don't think you're allowed to have a usual yet."

"You can't make an exception?" says Stiles, widening his eyes.

Derek rolls his. "Black with whipped cream and caramel?"

"You got it," says Stiles, grinning.

Derek grabs a cup and starts the machine. It's still early enough that there's only a trickle of people coming in to get coffee, so the shop is mostly empty, a sleepy silence permeating from the few people huddled around the place. Stiles stays at the counter, watching him.

He's got a messenger bag slung over his shoulder again, so Derek figures he's probably a college kid. He's definitely around the right age. He kind of wants to ask, which is weird, because he _never_ wants to start conversations with customers. He doesn't, though. He gets the feeling that if he gets Stiles talking, he might never stop, and Derek has work to do.

"So," says Stiles while Derek works, and Derek rolls his eyes to himself. "What's your name, dude? I told you mine, fair trade."

Derek just raises his eyebrows and gestures to his nametag.

"Doesn't count if you don't actually tell me," says Stiles.

"You have a lot of weird ideas," says Derek. And then, when Stiles just keeps looking at him, "Derek, you moron."

"Nice to meet you, Derek," says Stiles, ignoring the insult.

He probably gets it a lot.

"This is where you say 'it's nice to meet you too, Stiles,'" prompts Stiles.

"I haven't decided that yet," says Derek.

Stiles laughs, mouth open, and okay, maybe that's a lie.

"You're totally charmed, don't front," says Stiles.

Derek doesn't answer, just slides the finished coffee across to him.

"Sweet," says Stiles, handing over his change. "So I should totally come back, right? I could bring some friends, get you more customers."

"I'm not allowed to turn down business," says Derek reluctantly.

"Right, because if you could you'd probably turn away everyone who walks through the door, hey?" Stiles smirks. "They make up that rule just for you?"

"Laura did," says Derek. "My sister. I'm the co-owner."

"Tough break, man," says Stiles, laughing. "You own half the shop and can't even tell morons like me to get out."

Derek shrugs. "I made a girl cry once," he says. "It's probably for the best."

"Really?" says Stiles, tilting his head. "I mean, you're not _that_ scary."

Derek glares at him, which just makes Stiles laugh some more.

"Chill, dude, don't worry, I'm sure the general population is appropriately terrified," he says.

Derek has no idea what to say to that. He's never had a customer so insistent on talking to him before. Like, they've tried, but he tends to freeze them out pretty quickly. Stiles just seems either to not realise or not care that he largely prefers to be left alone.

Stiles makes a face. "I've freaked you out now, haven't I?" he says. "Man, and I haven't even had my first dose of caffeine yet."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Relax, you're not that scary either," he says.

"Derek," says Laura, appearing silently behind him as she's wont to do, "Did you just tell someone to _relax?_ You, the king of broody tension?"

"Serving a customer, Laura," says Derek, sighing.

"Oh hey, the co-owner!" says Stiles, grinning.

Laura blinks slowly at him. "Do I know you?" she says.

"No," says Stiles. "But Derek mentioned he's co-owner with his sister, and that his sister's name is Laura, and since you're behind the counter and all, I think it's a pretty safe assumption. I'm Stiles."

"Nice to meet you, Stiles," says Laura. "I mean it; it's a novelty coming across someone who manages to engage Derek in an actual conversation."

Derek closes his eyes briefly and wonders what the hell is going on.

Yesterday Stiles was just another customer. Today he's ganging up against him with Derek's _sister_.

Stiles is laughing brightly. "Yeah, I got that vibe," he says.

"Hard to imagine why," says Laura dryly, shooting Derek a fond look.

"Enough," says Derek firmly. "Laura, quit stalling on doing the taxes. Stiles, get a table or get out, I have customers to serve."

"Next year we're hiring an accountant," mutters Laura, and then, more loudly, "Come back any time, Stiles. I'll be around, if my head hasn't exploded from trying to sort out our accounts."

"I will," says Stiles. "Although, uh, if you want, I have a friend who's a math major, she could probably take a look at the accounts for you? Maybe not for free, but it'll definitely be cheaper than hiring a pro."

"Tell her I'll give her free coffee for life," says Laura, leaning forward over the counter. "On _top_ of an actual fee. Seriously, Stiles."

Stiles laughs. "Okay, I'll see if she's up for it," he says. "Take a break 'til I get back to you, yeah? Bug Derek some more. Although then _he_ might explode, hey."

Laura laughs. "I'll take my chances," she says. "Thanks, Stiles."

"No problem," says Stiles, and then, to Derek, "See you later then, I guess."

Derek just waves a hand absently, sort of reeling.

How does-- seriously, how does Stiles _do_ that? He's pretty sure he only met the dude yesterday, but it's starting to feel like he could be wrong about that. Which is stupid and also impossible.

He figures Stiles is just one of those annoying people who strike up friendships whenever and wherever they please simply by virtue of being _themselves_ , which is-- he's not sure whether it's a skill he covets or hates with a burning passion.

He figures he'll find that out, too.

 

"Stiles," says a female voice loudly the following afternoon, and Derek snaps his gaze up far more reflexively than he'd like. Stiles is just coming through the doors, dragging a reluctant, slightly-pissed, and also stunningly gorgeous girl behind him.

Derek tries not to hate her immediately, because that would be dumb.

"Stiles," she says again, "I'm a _math_ major, do you know how far below me accounting is? It's like grade school, and I finished grade school years ago."

"So it'll take you, like, ten minutes," says Stiles. "And you get paid, plus a lifetime of free coffee. Totally a win for you, right?"

The girl looks dubious. "Do they even make good coffee here?" she says, sniffing and looking around. Derek glares at her.

"They make awesome coffee," says Stiles, catching Derek's eye and grinning. "Derek, hey! Lydia, this is the barista slash co-owner who will provide you with your awesome lifetime of free coffee. Derek, this is Lydia, math genius and love of my life. Say hi," he adds to Lydia, elbowing her.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "I'm not the love of your life, Stiles," she says.

Stiles presses a hand to his heart. "One day your constant rejection will actually kill me." He sighs.

"We're friends," Lydia tells Derek. "Stiles just likes to pretend he's in love with me when he hasn't gotten laid in too long."

"Hey!" says Stiles, blushing furiously, and Derek bites back a sudden grin.

"I'm Derek," he says instead.

"Yeah, Stiles mentioned you," says Lydia, sliding a look at Stiles, loaded with something Derek can't quite catch. Stiles blushes again.

"So anyway, is Laura around?" says Stiles loudly.

"Out back," says Derek, waving over his shoulder. "You can go through."

"Awesome," says Stiles, grabbing Lydia's wrist again and tugging her around the counter. "I'll have my usual while you're waiting, thanks."

"Still not a usual!" Derek calls after him, rolling his eyes.

 

Stiles comes back out without Lydia, five or so minutes later. His coffee is waiting for him on the edge of the counter, and he grabs it with a grin, heading over to one of the nearby tables and dumping his bag on the polished wood. He doesn't open it immediately, leaning back in his seat with his coffee and staring at it kind of mutinously.

"Homework?" says Derek, mostly without meaning to.

Stiles glances up. "Fucking papers," he says. "I'm comp sci, why are they making me _write?_ I feel so cheated, man."

It makes sense, Derek thinks. The way Stiles is always vibrating, the way he talks like he has too much trying to spill out of him, his _hands_ , long and thin-fingered, like they'd be completely at home on a keyboard. The way you can tell as soon as he opens his mouth that he's sharp and fucking smart, behind all the awkward ridiculousness.

"It's college," he says, shrugging. "Papers aren't optional."

"Well, they should be," mutters Stiles.

"I wouldn't think you'd flip out over a paper, of all things," says Derek.

"Why's that?" says Stiles curiously, sitting up a little.

Derek lifts one shoulder. "You seem like you have a lot to say," he says.

Stiles snorts. "That's your way of saying I talk too much, right?"

"Maybe," says Derek.

"I guess." Stiles sighs. "But it's for a stupid mandatory intro course, so it's not like I can get all enthusiastic about it. Although hey, maybe I could make like I did in high school one time and write about the history of male circumcision."

Derek blinks at him. "Is it a history paper?" he says.

"English," says Stiles absently, waving a hand. "But it was economics in high school. I could totally make it work."

"Don't do it," advises Derek, and goes to serve the customer who's just come in, sneaking glances at Stiles as he opens his bag and pulls out his laptop-- kicking himself after every time, but unable to actually stop.

 

Stiles is drooping slightly by the time Lydia makes it out with Laura gushing thanks by her side. He's still got his laptop open, although Derek suspects he gave up on his paper a while back. He can't tell if it's because he's actually finished or just fed up enough to call it quits.

"I'll have a coffee before we go, if that's okay," says Lydia.

"Of course," says Laura. "Thank you so much, seriously. Derek, don't charge her for it. Or anything from now on, got it?"

Derek rolls his eyes and says, "Yes," and looks expectantly at Lydia.

"Cappuccino, please," she says, and slides into the seat opposite Stiles.

"Hey." Stiles blinks at her slowly. Derek starts making her coffee, and one for Stiles too, even though he didn't ask, but he looks like he could use it.

"Have fun without me?" says Lydia.

"Derek and I had a blast, right, Derek?" says Stiles.

"Right," says Derek flatly.

Stiles sighs. "You'll miss me when I'm gone, asshole," he says.

Derek smirks at him. "Sure," is all he says.

Stiles pokes his tongue out.

Derek shakes his head and grabs the coffees to bring around to their table.

"Oh," says Stiles, when Derek sets his down too. "I didn't ask for anything."

"I know," says Derek, and moves to go back to the counter.

"Sit down, Derek," says Lydia. "There's no customers, come on."

"I-- "

"Please," says Lydia. "Don't leave me with this for company." She waves a hand at Stiles, who is busy inhaling his coffee and getting cream all over his cheeks.

"Hey!" he says.

"Oh my God, Stiles, wipe your face," says Lydia. "You look like you belong in an amateur porn movie."

Stiles chokes and grabs a napkin, flushing, and Derek-- really didn't need to have that image in his head, not with the one already in front of him.

"Sometimes I'm really glad you keep rejecting me," says Stiles, pouting.

Lydia sighs heavily. "I keep rejecting you because you're _not in love with me_ , you imbecile," she says.

"I could be, you don't know," says Stiles.

"You're really not," says Lydia, patting his arm sympathetically.

Derek folds his arms kind of awkwardly.

"So, Derek!" says Lydia, turning to him. It's a little bit daunting, Derek's not going to lie. To himself, anyway. "You co-own this place? That's pretty cool for a guy your age. You can't be too much older than us, right?"

"I'm twenty-seven," says Derek blankly. "My sister's older."

"Still, your own business before thirty," says Lydia. "Not bad."

"I guess," says Derek, shrugging. It's not like he isn't proud of this place him and Laura had built up, not the least because of what they'd come from, the way they hadn't known this city at all, hadn't had any family left to fall back on, no friends in Beacon Hills or anywhere.

"I'm hoping to have a Fields Medal before I'm thirty," says Lydia.

Stiles grins at her. "Hoping?" he says. "You'll have one before you're twenty-five, and you know it."

Lydia shrugs modestly. "Where are you from, anyway?" she says to Derek.

"Stop interrogating him, oh my God," says Stiles.

"I'm making conversation, Stiles," says Lydia. "This is how it's done, you know? _Not_ just talking at someone like a crazy person until they crack."

"Works fine for me," mutters Stiles.

Derek quirks a smile, and says, "Beacon Hills, it's-- "

"No way," blurts Stiles. "Seriously? We're from Beacon Hills."

Derek blinks at him.

"Wait," says Stiles. "Are you-- Derek _Hale?_ "

"Yeah," says Derek awkwardly.

"Oh," says Stiles, eyes widening. "Oh, shit, you-- um. So I guess you and your sister moved out here, huh? After-- " He trails off awkwardly.

"Yeah," says Derek again. He doesn't know what to say-- he never does, when the subject of the fire comes up, which isn't often at all, since no one here knows him or his past. It's part of the reason he stayed here rather than going back to Beacon Hills. It's-- well, it's not easier, he doesn't think, but he likes not being reminded of it every day, likes the lack of sympathetic, pitying looks, likes the general distraction of everything in New York. It's easier here to feel like the world isn't ending, to feel like everything isn't right on the edge of breaking, falling apart around him.

The familiar, tight ache is spreading through his chest again now, though, the guilt and the sadness, and he can't-- fuck, Laura is right, he probably needs so much therapy, but he doesn't think there's any amount of therapy that could make this right, so. In the end, what's the point.

Stiles nudges his ankle lightly, and Derek refocuses abruptly.

"I'm really sorry, dude," says Stiles quietly.

"I-- yeah, thanks," says Derek tightly.

It'll go away, he knows, this sudden, overwhelming wash of hurt. It won't _leave,_ it never does, but it gets easier to bear when he's not actively reminded of what happened, when he's not thrust right back into that moment. It's not a constant, crushing thing like it was at the start. Stiles is smiling at him kind of hesitantly, and it's weird, how it makes Derek relax a little, helps him to swallow and feel the tightness in his throat ease, the claws digging into his palms slide back under his skin.

 

He closes up the shop when Stiles and Lydia leave, glad the day is over.

He goes for a run when that's done, too restless to just sit around the apartment he shares with Laura above the coffee shop. It's a good way to burn off the uncomfortable, slightly painful feeling he gets whenever he thinks about the past too much. It's been years, now, and it isn't always quite this bad, but when it hits him like this the sting is still as sharp as it was the day it happened, and part of him wants it to always be like that.

His family doesn't deserve for it not to hurt, and he doesn't deserve not to be in pain.

It's not that he isn't happy now, he thinks. He knows things could be a lot worse. He's content with what he's got, the little pack he has going with Laura. He doesn't want to get back into that whole life like they would've had in Beacon Hills, hunters and politics and feuds. It's stupid, it got his family killed, and much as he hadn't thought it would at the start, the coffee shop has actually been quite successful, and he doesn't hate it. He likes the repetitive motions of making the coffee, the smell that reminds him of his mom in the mornings, the repairs he does himself around the shop. The work that goes into it all, being able to constantly keep himself busy and feel like he's doing something useful, something that makes Laura happy too.

He doesn't need more than that. He doesn't think he could handle more.

Especially relationships.

His track record there is worse than dismal, and he'd rather keep this thing they have safe, keep _Laura_ safe, than risk it all for the remote possibility of his own happiness.

It never lasts, anyway. It's never worth it. In the end, he's better off the way things are.

 

He's standing on one of the corner tables the next morning, fixing a crack in the ceiling while Laura works the counter, when Stiles walks in.

It's probably strange that Derek recognises his smell already, and he doesn't turn around while Laura greets Stiles enthusiastically, not even commenting on his weird-ass order.

"Yo," says Stiles, coming over to Derek when his coffee is done and blinking up at him.

Derek grunts.

"So you're a handyman as well as barista extraordinaire, huh?" says Stiles.

Derek shrugs. "Someone's gotta do it," he says.

"Is it really necessary for _someone_ to do it without a shirt, though?" says Laura from the counter.

Derek just rolls his eyes and keeps working.

"Nah, come on, don't wanna get your clothes all messed up," says Stiles. "Skin is much easier to clean, right?" He smirks at Derek. His eyelashes look really long and dark from this angle.

"Right, that must be it," says Laura dryly. "Couldn't be that Mr. Loner here spends all his free time working out and needs some way to show it off. At least it gets us more business, I guess."

"Are you pimping out your own brother?" says Stiles, mock-horrified.

"Don't sound so surprised, she'd do a lot worse to drum up business," says Derek.

"I really would," agrees Laura, smiling sweet and dangerous.

"You're a terrible person," says Derek.

"Yep!" says Laura easily.

Stiles just laughs, sliding into a seat at the table Derek's standing on.

"I might drop something on your head," says Derek.

"Damage is already done, buddy," says Stiles brightly.

"You're not wrong," mutters Derek, which makes Stiles snort.

"Hey, you wouldn't hurt me, would you?" says Stiles, and Derek kind of wishes he hadn't looked down, then, because Stiles' eyes are wide and mischievous, mouth open and smiling, and fuck.

Derek shakes his head and turns away. "Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," he says.

"I see you fronting," says Stiles comfortably. Derek frowns.

He has no idea how this ridiculous kid has crawled so far under his skin already, is so comfortable around him. People are never comfortable around Derek.

Stiles just-- he _pushes_ , he's alternately charming and annoying as fuck and doesn't _stop_ , and it's not that Derek hasn't come across pushy people before, but he's never come across _Stiles_ , who is-- it's like he's tailored to Derek, to worming his way through Derek's defences.

Derek doesn't even know why, really. Maybe-- he doesn't know, maybe the way Stiles gives him shit and doesn't back down, isn't trying to impress Derek or put on any kind of front; is just Stiles, just himself, as much a mystery and contradiction for all that as he is an open book.

The way his heartbeat is never still or steady, but he's never lying, either.

 

It's Derek's turn to get their weekly groceries a couple nights later. He heads out with Laura's list, and because it's his life, spots Stiles arguing with some dude as he turns into the cereal aisle. The guy is brandishing a box of Cocoa Puffs, looking mournful.

"They're not healthy, Scott," says Stiles long-sufferingly.

"But you like them!" says Scott, confused.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but unlike you, I've progressed to the stage of adulthood where I can recognise shit that's bad for me. We don't need them, come on."

"Ugh, I _knew_ you'd pick on me when you didn't have your dad around to make miserable with healthy shit," says Scott sullenly, shoving the box back onto the shelf.

"It's for your own good, bro," says Stiles. And then, spotting Derek, "Dude, hey!"

Derek sighs and resigns himself to his fate, pushing his cart forward. "Hi, Stiles," he says.

"You look super weird with a grocery cart," says Stiles. "Weirder than when you make coffee."

"Thanks," says Derek dryly.

Stiles grins brightly at him. "This is Scott, by the way," he says, gesturing to Scott. "My best buddy since grade school. We moved into an off-campus apartment together this year. Worst decision I ever made, obviously."

"Hey!" says Scott. "Shut up, you love me. Hey," he adds to Derek, smiling lopsidedly.

"This is the coffee shop dude I told you about," says Stiles.

"Oh, cool," says Scott. "I'ma totally come in and try your stuff soon, bro."

"Uh," says Derek. "Cool?"

"Hey, you should sound more enthusiastic about new customers, what would Laura say?" says Stiles, pointing a finger at Derek.

"Nothing she doesn't already," says Derek.

Stiles laughs. "Yeah, okay," he says. "Still, Scott's pretty awesome, when he isn't being a pain in the ass."

Scott rolls his eyes. He's totally eyeing the shelf of Cocoa Puffs, probably trying to sneak some into the cart while Stiles is busy talking to Derek. Maybe Derek should say something.

Before he can, though, Stiles whips around to look at Scott and says, "Don't even think about it, buddy," eyes narrowed.

Scott freezes with his hand on a box, looking guilty.

Derek smothers an involuntary smile.

"Honestly," says Stiles, turning back to Derek. "Sometimes it's like living with a six year-old."

Derek raises an eyebrow.

"You shut up," says Stiles. "I'm totally mature and responsible."

"Okay," says Derek. The thing is, much as Stiles is ridiculous and a little bit off-kilter and talks too much, Derek doesn't doubt that he's also a lot more capable than people give him credit for.

Stiles just shakes his head, sighing. "My life is so hard," he says. "Okay, we should probably finish up and get home, I got a ton of homework to get through."

"Yeah," says Derek. "I-- me too."

"Got homework?" says Stiles, raising his brows.

"Have to get home," says Derek, looking at him flatly.

Stiles giggles. "Sure, okay, got a date with the treadmill?" he says.

Derek just pushes his cart further down the aisle, bumping Stiles' shoulder hard as he passes.

"Unfair!" Stiles calls after him. "I want free coffee for that!"

"Sorry," says Derek. "Against store policy."

"Lies," says Stiles. "I'm telling Laura."

Derek lets himself smile, just a little, since Stiles can't see his face.

 

He has Stiles' coffee ready for him around the time he's starting to realise is Stiles' usual, because-- well, he's not exactly sure why, actually. It's probably a really dumb idea.

When Stiles bounds in he calls, "The usual, thanks!"

Derek just gestures to the still-hot coffee waiting on the counter, and Stiles blinks.

"Really?" he says. "Is this a new technique you're trying to avoid talking to me?"

Derek hadn't actually thought about it like that at all, but he smirks now, grateful for the excuse.

"I guess it's not working as well as I hoped," he says.

"Nope," says Stiles, taking an appreciative sip. "Way too late for that, dude."

"It's been a week," says Derek.

"Week and a half, actually," says Stiles.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Get away from my counter, you're putting customers off," he says.

"What customers?" says Stiles with a shit-eating grin, looking around.

"Stiles," growls Derek.

"Okay, okay, keep your pants on," says Stiles, retreating to a table close to the counter.

Derek sighs. It's probably as good as he's going to get. Stiles is right, there aren't any customers waiting at the moment, but the morning rush is about to start, and he'd rather not be distracted by Stiles then. He'd rather not be distracted by Stiles at all, but he's self-aware enough to realise it's probably too late for that. The rush is always busy, at least. They're located mostly among office buildings, so there's a constant, decent crowd of businessmen and women jonesing for their first caffeine hit of the day, plus a healthy sidestream of passing college kids.

Laura had picked the place when they'd been looking over leases, and her intuition had been perfect. Derek mostly lets her deal with all the people-related stuff, and it's paid off.

He doesn't get a chance to talk to Stiles again between all the orders and when Stiles has to head off to class, but he comes back in the afternoon with Scott in tow, flushed and grinning.

"Hey!" he says, draping himself dramatically over the counter. "The usual, please, stat. Just come off a coding marathon, Derek, I'm _dying_."

Scott rolls his eyes and elbows Stiles out of the way. "Mocha for me, please," he says. "Ooh, and one of those chocolate muffins. Don't say a word," he adds to Stiles.

"Whatever, I'm too tired to care," says Stiles, sighing and dragging himself over to a table.

Scott pays for both of them, and Derek thinks to say, "Not your usual," to Stiles as he starts making the drinks.

"Stop living in denial, I'm never gonna order anything else," says Stiles, waving a hand.

"Maybe I'll start refusing to make it on principle," says Derek, even as he adds a generous amount of whipped cream to Stiles' drink, and drizzles on the caramel syrup.

"You wouldn't dare," says Stiles, and Derek raises a dangerous eyebrow as he sets their drinks down.

"Okay, maybe you would," amends Stiles. "But you wouldn't make me sad like that, would you?"

"Your drink makes me sad," says Derek, heading back to the counter.

"Aw," says Stiles. "Don't knock it 'til you try it. It's weird but unexpectedly awesome, just like me."

Derek snorts.

 

Scott starts coming in with Stiles most days, after that, and Derek definitely doesn't begrudge the amount of Stiles' attention Scott takes up, or the way it means Derek doesn't get as much one-on-one time with him. It's not like he even _wants_ one-on-one time, God.

Lydia comes in sometimes too, and some days she brings her boyfriend, who Derek learns is called Jackson and who is also sort of an arrogant asshole, but he seems to totally worship Lydia, which Derek can't fault him for.

It all becomes weirdly normal, and sometimes, when he's not busy with other stuff, Derek lets himself think about just how confusing and slightly terrifying that is.

He hasn't had friends in a long time, no one but Laura, and this is-- Stiles is definitely edging towards being someone Derek could call a friend, and probably Scott and Lydia would be too, if Derek let them. It's hard enough remembering how to act around Stiles, though.

That might also have something to do with how he _still_ can't stop staring at things like Stiles' mouth or his hands or his lowered lashes when he works at his laptop in the shop.

Or the way that Stiles scent is-- it smells like _home_ , in a safe, comfortable way that doesn't remind him of the bad stuff, just fills up this weird void he hadn't even realised was there.

Derek tries to focus on all that as little as possible, though, distracting himself with stuff around the shop or working out whenever he catches his eyes wandering too much.

It's not-- Stiles doesn't want him like that, and even if he did, Derek just-- can't.

For himself, or for Stiles. Or Laura, for that matter. He can't justify that risk.

 

Stiles is leaning over the counter on a Monday morning almost two months after he first came into Derek's coffee shop, bleary-eyed and desperate for coffee.

"Stop that," snaps Derek, slapping Stiles' hand away from the plate of samples they've got out today: chocolate and peanut butter layer cake. It is pretty amazing, Derek can't fault Stiles on that, but he's had five pieces already, and they're trying to drum up _new_ business with it.

Stiles pouts, but Derek just keeps on making his coffee.

"Sample Nazi," mutters Stiles, sighing. His eyes move to track Derek's hands instead.

"Gimme," he says the minute Derek's done, making grabby hands.

Derek rolls his eyes and passes the cup over.

"Mmm," says Stiles, practically burying his face in the cream and groaning obscenely.

"Oh my God, get away from my counter," says Derek.

"Shh, I'm having a _moment_ ," says Stiles, but he shuffles to his usual table.

"Hey, little bro," says Laura, appearing at the counter and elbowing him.

"What do you want?" says Derek, sighing. He knows that tone.

"Nothing!" says Laura innocently. "How's Stiles?"

"He's Stiles," says Derek, shrugging and rearranging the samples Stiles had demolished.

"You like him," says Laura. "You don't like anyone."

"I like people fine," says Derek.

Laura doesn't even bother responding. She looks at Stiles instead, frowning now at a textbook.

"Don't, okay," says Derek, breathing out. "Just-- just leave it."

"I just want you to be happy, Derek," says Laura quietly.

"I am," says Derek.

"I know," says Laura, laying a hand on his arm. "But you're not-- I don't know, Derek. There's _more_ for you, you know that, right?"

Derek just shrugs, grateful when a customer walks in and Laura backs off to let him serve them.

 

Stiles comes back in around five. Scott's there too, kicking Stiles under the table while he tries to work on something on his laptop. It lasts about fifteen minutes before Stiles snaps.

"Oh my God," he says, glaring at Scott over his laptop. "Where's Allison? At least she actually seems to _like_ it when you bug her, although God knows why."

"She has class 'til late," says Scott, sighing. "Also, you love it when I bug you, shut up."

Stiles sits back, rubbing his forehead. "I need more coffee," he says. "Yo, Derek!"

"Yeah, yeah," says Derek, handing over the last customer's order and grabbing a cup for Stiles.

"I love you," says Stiles fervently, batting his lashes.

"Aw," says Laura, coming out from the kitchen where she'd been cleaning. It's her domain back there; they get some of the cakes and stuff delivered every morning, but Laura also makes some of them herself, more and more as her confidence grows. Derek's sort of ridiculously proud of her.

He throws a scowl at her now, though, which just makes her smile brightly.

"Hi, Stiles," she says, leaning over the counter. "Hey, Scott."

"Hey!" say Stiles and Scott in tandem.

"Coffee's done," says Derek, and Stiles drags himself over to grab it, slapping change onto the counter.

"My hero," says Stiles, grinning impishly before he goes back to his homework.

Derek catches Laura looking at him again.

"Don't," he says warningly, and she holds up her hands, mouth twitching.

 

"Derek," moans Stiles, bursting in on Thursday afternoon. He looks like shit, strung-out and a little wild, bruised around the eyes. "I need coffee, stat, and also food."

"Laura made some more peanut butter chocolate cake," says Derek, gesturing to the display.

" _Yes_ ," is all Stiles says before he collapses heavily into a chair.

Derek rolls his eyes and throws a piece of cake onto a plate, carrying it over before he starts making Stiles' coffee. "You shouldn't skip lunch," he says, frowning.

"Who says I skipped lunch?" says Stiles with his mouth full.

Derek raises his eyebrows.

"Ugh, shut up, whatever. I was on a hot streak," says Stiles, making a face at him.

"You're an idiot," says Derek, bringing his coffee around and sitting down opposite Stiles. He's not actually sure why, except that the shop is empty of new customers.

"Sure, whatever, just-- mmm, caffeine," breathes Stiles, inhaling half his coffee.

Derek has no idea why he keeps associating with this person, honestly.

He leans back with his arms folded and lets Stiles eat, telling himself sternly that the pleased little noises he keeps making over the cake and coffee are _not_ hot in any way.

"Fuck," says Stiles, breathing out and leaning back when he's done. "Thanks, man. That's better. I usually know it's time to stop when my hands start shaking, you know, but I may have pushed it a bit today."

"No shit," says Derek dryly.

Stiles makes another face at him. "I bet you can't talk," he says.

"You have no proof," says Derek, smirking a little.

"Yet," says Stiles ominously. He stretches out, yawning. "Ugh," he adds. "'Kay, I'm gonna go home and crash for a million years, but I'll be back tomorrow, so don't miss me too hard."

"I'll try," says Derek flatly, standing.

"Aw, baby," coos Stiles, throwing a smirk over his shoulder before the door closes behind him.

 

Derek goes for another run that night. He chooses Central Park, which is not is usual route, but he wants somewhere he can really run, maybe even shift once it gets dark enough. It's one of the things he really does miss about Beacon Hills: the woods, the empty wilderness.

There's no space to be himself here, really, no space to let the wolf free. He goes running with Laura sometimes, closing up the shop for the day and driving out to the countryside, but it's not quite often enough. The park is an okay substitute, and he needs it tonight.

He needs it because this whole thing, _Stiles_ , is-- it's spinning so far from what it _should_ be, from what this kid should mean to him after only two months. He wants-- he just _wants_ , almost as much as he can't, so dangerously close that it's freaking him out, making him itchy and angry.

So he runs, and it's good. Stiles is still there, when he collapses into bed, still way more present and tangible and inviting than he should be, but Derek can close his eyes and fall blissfully, dreamlessly asleep, and not think about it all, at least for a while.

 

"So hey," says Stiles on another Monday, leaning against the counter with his coffee in hand.

He's got a bit of cream caught on his top lip, and Derek's hand actually twitches before he says, "You've got stuff on your face," and Stiles _licks_ it off himself, Jesus fucking Christ.

"So," says Stiles again. "Scott and I are having a party at our apartment Friday night, you guys should totally come."

"Oh!" says Laura, standing from where she's been stacking the display with fresh cakes. "That sounds great, actually. I could use a good night. We'll be there!"

Derek glares at her and says, "No," shortly.

"Why not?" says Stiles, frowning at him.

"Don't listen to him," says Laura. "We're going."

"Awesome," says Stiles, before Derek can argue some more. "Come whenever, obviously, there'll be plenty of booze. Give me your number and I can message you the address?"

He's looking at Derek, who hesitates-- he's not sure he wants to open that door-- but then Laura elbows him hard in the ribs and says, "Yeah, give him your number, Derek," sweetly.

Derek sighs but takes the phone Stiles holds out and punches in his number.

"Awesome," says Stiles again, grinning and shouldering his bag as he heads out.

 

Stiles messages him later that night. _so this is a test run_ , he says. _wanna make sure you know how to use a phone before i send you the address._

_fuck you_ , types Derek, frowning.

_i saw that monolithic thing you were using the other day, couldnt be sure_ , Stiles sends back.

Derek rolls his eyes. _it works fine_ , he sends, because well, it does. That's all he needs.

_you make me sad_ , Stiles sends back, along with the address.

Derek doesn't answer, but he jots the address absently down onto a post-it.

 

Derek's in the office, frowning over a bunch of supply orders, when Stiles finds him.

"Hey," he says, sitting down on the edge of the desk. "Laura sent me back."

"Remind me to thank her," says Derek.

Stiles rolls his eyes and kicks him. "She doesn't make my coffee the same as you," he says.

Derek shrugs. "Of course not, I'm better at it," he says.

Stiles laughs. "I'll give you that one," he says. "She's better with the customers, though."

"I'm okay with that," says Derek.

"Shocking," says Stiles, grinning. "So hey, you are coming Friday, right?"

Derek sighs and leans back in his chair. "I-- "

"Please," says Stiles. "I'll totally start standing outside the shop and scaring away potential customers if you don't."

Derek frowns at him.

"Yeah, I'm not above resorting to dirty threats," says Stiles, grinning.

"You're a moron," says Derek. "Fine."

"Yay!" shouts Stiles ridiculously, punching Derek's shoulder.

 

The party is dumb. Derek has no idea why he's here. Except that apparently, sometime when he wasn't paying attention, the number of people in the world he can't say no to jumped from one to two, and when those two people gang up on him, there's not a lot he can do.

It pisses him off, because when did _Stiles_ \-- God. _So_ dumb.

He stands in a corner nursing a beer that can't get him drunk, frowning over his life.

He doesn't want this, this uncertainty, this _want_ , doesn't need it.

No one does. Derek is-- he's not good for people. He just isn't, and he's okay with it.

Okay with being alone, because it means he can't get hurt, either, and that's-- that's good, too.

Or well, it was, until Stiles came along. Now he wants all these things he can't have, that he knows will just fuck him or the people he cares about over in the end, and it's-- it sucks. It makes it a lot harder to focus on how content he is already, the little life he's built.

He growls in frustration, searching the crowd for Laura. He's pretty sure she smuggled in some wolfsbane without telling Derek, if the way she's flushed and giggling over her fourth drink is any indication. Not that Derek begrudges her. She should have a good time. She deserves it.

"Hiiii, Derek!" says Stiles, appearing at his side. Derek frowns at him, but Stiles doesn't seem to notice. "Sorry I haven't spoken to you much, playing the host, you know? But really, I just wanna talk to you, even though you're not a great conversationist. Conversation _a_ list. Is that weird? It's weird, right?"

"Probably," says Derek. "You're weird."

"I know," says Stiles. "But you still talk to me!"

"I don't know why," mutters Derek, because he really doesn't.

"Aw!" says Stiles. "Come on, it's awesome. You're awesome."

"You're drunk," says Derek.

"A bit," agrees Stiles, nodding. "You should get drunk too, it's fun."

"I'm driving," says Derek, taking a totally redundant sip of his beer.

"Oh yeah," says Stiles, frowning. "But you're having fun, right? I want you to have fun."

"Yes, Stiles," says Derek, sighing.

"Good." Stiles nods. "Okay, I have to go make sure the kitchen is still here, but I'll talk to you later. Don't leave."

Derek doesn't answer, but he stays where he is, watching Stiles disappear into the crowd.

 

"Oh my God," says Stiles, slumping heavily against Derek an hour or so later. "I'm _really_ drunk now, fuck."

Derek hesitates before steadying him with a hand on his back, holding himself tense.

"You're really comfortable," mumbles Stiles into his shoulder.

"Stiles," says Derek. "Get off me."

"Mmm," says Stiles. "Don' wanna."

Derek sighs. " _Stiles_ ," he growls.

"But you smell nice," says Stiles petulantly, pouting at him.

Derek rolls his eyes. "You reek of booze," he says.

Stiles sighs. "Sorry," he says, but he doesn't move, and Derek has no idea what to do.

He could shove Stiles away, of course, but he might fall over, and besides that, there's a not-so-small, traitorous part of him that doesn't _want_ to, that wants to keep Stiles close.

It feels terrifyingly like instinct, like necessity, and that's not-- Derek closes his eyes.

"Derek," says Stiles quietly, and when Derek looks Stiles is blinking at him slowly, eyes bright and blown, mouth so fucking wet, so inviting. "Derek," breathes Stiles again, and leans in.

It hits Derek like a punch to the gut, when Stiles kisses him, the arousal he can smell coming off him, a scent that's not entirely unfamiliar, but mostly he's ignored it because it's been mixed up with other things, and could be directed at anyone, especially because half the time Lydia's also in the shop. Stiles isn't looking at anyone but Derek now, though, and he's pressed all along his front, and Derek can feel him _everywhere,_ alcohol-hot and pliant.

He kisses back because he can't _help_ it, fisting a hand in Stiles' hair to keep him close.

Stiles moans and tries to press in deeper, use more tongue, and it's messy, sloppy and imperfect, and so fucking good, which is what makes Derek wrench away, in the end.

He's pretty sure if he waited any longer, he wouldn't be able to stop at all.

"Fuck," says Stiles. "Derek-- "

"I have to go," says Derek, stepping away and lurching into the crowd to grab Laura, hauling her out amid her protests.

"Derek, what the _hell,_ " she snaps, tugging her wrist out of his hold as they make it outside.

"I'm done," says Derek. "We've been here for hours."

"What happened?" says Laura immediately, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing," says Derek. "Get in the car."

Laura folds her arms stubbornly.

"Or don't," says Derek. "But I'm leaving." He gets into the driver's seat.

Laura stands outside a moment longer, glaring at him through the window, and then gets in with a huff. "Fine," she says. "But I'm not done bugging you about this."

"You're never done bugging me," says Derek, but the drive home is blissfully silent.

 

Stiles doesn't come into the shop the rest of the weekend, or Monday either.

It makes Derek angry for reasons he doesn't want to think about, and he's even more sullen to the customers than usual, so much so that Laura doesn't let him work on Tuesday.

Derek runs errands instead, and because it's still his life, runs into Stiles at the grocery store.

"Derek!" says Stiles, blinking and flushing. "Oh, uh, hi."

"Hi," says Derek, staring at him. He feels weirdly caught, which is stupid.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry I haven't been in the shop since-- lately," says Stiles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tons of homework, you know, keeping me locked in."

"Sure," says Derek flatly.

Stiles chews on his bottom lip. Derek clenches his fingers around the handle of his cart.

"Okay," says Stiles eventually, after a super awkward silence. "Well, I should-- I should go, still gotta get home and finish up some stuff. But I'll-- I'll be in soon."

"Okay," says Derek, and pushes past him, frowning hard.

 

Stiles is nowhere to be seen when Derek goes through the checkout, which he should probably be grateful for. So it's strange that he just feels disappointed.

He does spy Stiles in the parking lot, bags hefted onto his shoulders as he crosses to get to the subway. He's stopped halfway across, talking to someone, and Derek gets a strong whiff of fear, which shouldn't-- and then a look at the guy's face, the _knife_ he's holding, and oh, God.

He's wolfed-out before he realises, launching across the parking lot to get to the mugger.

It's harder than it usually is, staying in control, not ripping the guy's throat out for threatening Stiles, for trying to take what's-- what isn't his. He roughs him up pretty good, gets a few slashes of his claws in, before he rolls away and the guy runs, terrified.

When he comes to Stiles is staring at him with huge eyes, breathing hard, and he just says, "I-- what-- dude, what _was_ that?" He gestures at Derek.

Derek sighs. He's started wondering, recently, whether he'd ever have to tell Stiles about the whole wolf thing. He can't decide if it's better or worse that it's out of his hands now.

"Like," says Stiles, "I wasn't seeing things, right? You-- you _changed_ , or something."

"You weren't seeing things, Stiles," says Derek. "It's-- I'm a werewolf."

Stiles blinks. "Holy shit," he says, stepping closer to Derek. "You're not-- you're not fucking with me, right? I mean, I definitely saw-- but a _werewolf?_ "

Derek just nods and doesn't move, holding himself so still, flashing back abruptly to the way Kate had flinched away every time it came up between them, her look of disgust and awful pity.

"Do it again," demands Stiles, eyes bright, shrewd and fascinated.

"Stiles-- "

"Please," says Stiles, and Derek does, just for a second, lets his eyes flash and his face shift, and then relaxes back out of it.

"Holy shit," says Stiles again. "Holy shit. That is-- that is the coolest thing I've ever seen. Is it, like, were you bitten? Is it a genetic thing? How do you-- "

"I was born this way," Derek cuts across. "Stiles, this is-- it's not _cool_."

"What the fuck, of course it is," says Stiles.

"I'm dangerous," says Derek.

"No you're not," says Stiles, rolling his eyes. "You just-- just _wolfed-out_ to save me from a mugging. Pretty sure you're not gonna hurt me. And like, clearly you can control it." He waves a hand.

Derek sighs. "We're not discussing this now," he says. "Get in the car."

"Huh?" says Stiles.

"I'll drive you home. You caught the subway here, right?"

"Yeah," says Stiles. "But I'm fine, dude, you don't-- "

"Get in the car, Stiles," says Derek, gesturing to the Camaro.

"Yeah, okay," says Stiles, and does, shoving his bags into the back seat. "Nice car," he adds, as Derek starts the engine.

"I know," says Derek, which makes Stiles roll his eyes and smile.

"How long have you had it?" he asks, and Derek is grateful that he's making an effort to talk about something else.

"Got it not long after we came to New York," says Derek.

"Let me guess," says Stiles. "It was super beat-up and you nursed it back to life with your own two hands?"

"Yeah," says Derek, mouth twitching despite everything.

"Wow," says Stiles. "You did an awesome job."

Derek just grunts in acknowledgement.

"I get that, you know," Stiles carries on. "Like, needing something to work on after-- you know. Even if it's dumb, not that I'm calling your car dumb. But like, after my mom died-- "

"Your mom died?" says Derek abruptly.

"Yeah," says Stiles quietly. "When I was a kid. Anyway, afterwards, we had this old computer, and I pulled it apart completely. My dad was so pissed, and I told him I'd fix it. I totally couldn't, obviously, but I spent ages trying. It was good, even if it didn't turn out this nice."

Derek glances at him. Stiles is looking down at his hands, smiling this weird, soft smile, a little bit fond and a little bit sad. Derek feels a little bit like he can't breathe. "Yeah," he says uselessly.

They drive the rest of the way in silence, and Stiles pauses, when he gets out of the car, pointing sternly at Derek, and says, "Don't think we're done discussing this. I'll see you in the morning."

Derek sighs again, as he drives away, and figures he'd better give Laura a head's up.

 

He's sitting at one of the tables around seven next morning. They're open, but there've only been two customers come in so far, so he doesn't really need to be behind the counter.

Stiles isn't due in for another hour, which is why Derek blinks in surprise when he comes pushing through the door, tugging off his beanie and making a beeline for Derek's table.

"So," he says, dragging his laptop from his bag. "I spent all night doing a ton of research, but I get the feeling most of the info online is bullshit. I need you to answer some questions for me."

"Oh, great," says Derek dryly.

Stiles rolls his eyes, powering up the laptop and settling back. "Do you have a pack?" he says.

"Just me and Laura, now," says Derek, taking a fortifying sip of his triple-shot latte.

Stiles nods. "And the whole-- hierarchy thing, is that _actually_ a thing?"

"Yeah," says Derek. "My mom was the Alpha, until-- and now it's Laura, because she's the oldest."

"Okay," says Stiles. "So you're-- "

"A beta," says Derek.

"What's an omega?" says Stiles, tilting his head.

"Wolf without a pack," says Derek, twisting his cup between his hands.

"Does that happen a lot?" says Stiles.

"No," says Derek. "It's dangerous."

"How come?"

"Hunters," says Derek, glancing away and shrugging.

"What, you mean-- people-- people _hunt_ you?" Stiles looks shocked.

"Yeah," says Derek. It must sound shocking, he guesses, when it's not your world.

"But-- " Stiles trails off helplessly.

"Not everyone's like me and Laura, Stiles," says Derek, leaning forward. "I'm not saying anyone should hunt werewolves, but there are some who don't-- don't like humans."

"Do hunters only go for those ones?" says Stiles.

Derek laughs humourlessly. "No," he says. "Some have codes, others don't."

"Fuck," says Stiles.

Derek just shrugs, staring into his coffee.

"Wait," says Stiles, and Derek snaps his eyes up. "Was-- " He bites down on his lip. "The-- the fire, was that-- "

"Hunters," says Derek shortly.

"Oh my God," breathes Stiles. "But you-- I remember your family, you weren't-- "

"I know," says Derek. "Some have codes, others don't."

Stiles stares at him, mouth open, looking pained.

"Well," amends Derek, standing and grabbing his empty cup. "Hunters and me. You want your coffee?"

"What?" says Stiles, blinking. "I-- yeah, okay. But wait, what do you mean, hunters and-- "

"Nothing," says Derek.

Stiles narrows his eyes. "Okay," he says slowly, and lets it drop.

Derek's not stupid enough to think that's the same thing as him letting it go.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, cursing whatever it is about Stiles that makes Derek tell him things before he actually gives himself permission.

 

Stiles doesn't come in the next day, and Derek thinks maybe the werewolf thing is finally starting to freak him out like it should be, which is-- it's good, he tells himself firmly.

Stiles messages him after the shop's closed, though, says, _come over i have more questions._

Derek tests back, _is that supposed to sound inviting?_

_no,_ sends Stiles. _hence this: i also have pizza._

Derek smiles at his phone and then sighs at himself, sends, _fine be there soon._

_hurry up or scott will eat everything_ , says Stiles.

Derek's there in twenty, and the apartment smells promisingly delicious, when Stiles lets him in, which means Scott probably hasn't managed to eat all the pizza yet.

Stiles is generous enough to let him eat before he bombards Derek with questions, settling back to watch some _Gilmore Girls_ marathon, which-- seriously? Although, Derek supposes, all that fast talking must appeal to Stiles, in terms of solidarity or whatever.

"So," says Stiles, when Derek's reaching for the last slice of pizza. "When you said it was your fault-- "

Derek freezes with the slice halfway to his mouth and says, "No," sharply. Stiles blinks, frowning, and Derek adds, "Not that. You can ask about anything else, just."

"Okay," says Stiles after a pause, watching him carefully. "So do you guys have, like, powers?"

"Powers?" says Derek, raising an eyebrow.

"You know." Stiles waves a hand. "Stuff you can do that we can't. Apart from, obviously, _turning into a werewolf._ Which is admittedly huge, but, you know."

Derek swallows his mouthful of pizza. "We have heightened hearing," he says.

"Like-- "

"I can hear your heartbeat," says Derek. Stiles blinks. "It's-- helpful. Easy to tell when people are lying, always know when someone's coming. You can't sneak up on a werewolf."

"Huh," says Stiles. "Okay, that's super awesome. Anything else?"

"Sense of smell is heightened, too," says Derek.

"How much?" Stiles tilts his head curiously.

"We can track people by their scent," says Derek. "Smell fear, that kind of thing."

" _So_ cool," says Stiles, shaking his head. He looks at Derek expectantly.

"Healing," says Derek. "Hard to kill a werewolf, too."

Stiles opens his mouth.

"I'll show you," says Derek, because showing is usually easier than explaining. He gets up and heads to the kitchen, and Stiles follows him after a moment, looking apprehensive.

"Is this going to involve blood?" he says, hesitating in the doorway.

"Only a little," says Derek. "Come here."

He grabs a knife off the counter and holds his arm over the sink, slicing a shallow cut into the skin. Stiles makes a noise, and then chokes on it halfway through when the cut starts healing over immediately, closing up and smoothing over entirely in less than thirty seconds.

"Holy shit," he breathes, staring.

Derek rinses the knife off and leaves it in the sink.

"So how _do_ you kill a werewolf," says Stiles as they settle back on the couch.

"Cut them in half, traditionally," says Derek, shrugging. He has no idea why he tells Stiles-- it's _dangerous_ , and there's so much Derek doesn't know about this kid, but he-- fuck, he doesn't even know, it feels impossibly close to trust, this thing with Stiles, and that's-- that's stupid.

It hasn't been anywhere near long enough. Although his mom always used to say trust was an instinct, not a learned response. He's not sure he ever got that, until maybe now.

Stiles pales a little, mouth turning down unhappily. "Oh," is all he says.

Derek just shrugs again. It's weird, watching someone hear all this for the first time. He's just always been around people who _knew_.

"Okay," says Stiles after a silence. "And it's not like-- is the moon a thing?"

"It's stronger at the full moon," says Derek. "But not-- not necessary. You can control it. It's not hard."

"That go for everyone, or just you?"

Derek frowns. "I don't know," he says. "I was born this way, I don't know anything else. It might be different for a newly bitten wolf."

"So that is a thing," says Stiles, nodding. "So if you bite someone-- "

"-- Only when you're wolfed out," Derek cuts across.

"If you bite someone when you're wolfed out, they become a werewolf too?"

"As long as the bite doesn't kill them," says Derek, nodding.

"Huh," says Stiles thoughtfully. "Okay."

After a while of just watching TV in silence, Stiles says, awkwardly, palming at the back of his neck, "I also wanted, uh-- I wanted to apologise, for the other night, you know, the party, that was-- that was a-- a dick move, and super embarrassing, so. I don't want to make things awkward, I like you, you know, and I like the shop, so-- yeah. Sorry."

Derek says, "It's fine, Stiles," and Stiles smiles at him, a little hesitantly.

"Okay," he says. "Awesome. Great. And thanks for answering all my questions, you know, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but it's just so _cool_ , and I-- "

He's cut off when Derek jerks forward without thinking to kiss him, hot and biting and oh God, what the hell is he doing.

Stiles makes a pleased little sound, though, and clutches at Derek's shirt, opening his mouth, so fucking sweet, and Derek can't stop, can't pull away, he just licks inside and takes.

"You-- " says Stiles, blinking slowly when Derek finally wrenches his mouth away. He licks his lips, and Derek clenches his hands so he doesn't reach for him again. "You-- really?"

Derek shakes his head. "I shouldn't have done that," he says. "I-- sorry."

"Seriously?" says Stiles. "You're _apologising?_ "

"I-- yes?" says Derek.

Stiles rolls his eyes and shuffles closer. Derek moves back immediately, and hates himself for the flash of hurt that shows on Stiles' face. "Derek," he says quietly.

"No," says Derek. "I can't, okay, I have to-- I should go. I still have to lock up."

Stiles stares at him for a moment. "Fine," he says eventually, and Derek nods jerkily, standing up and heading for the door.

Derek's not actually sure whether Stiles will come back this time, and it hurts a lot more than he's okay with.

 

Stiles actually comes in the next day. He's got a black eye and a split lip, mouth open like he wants to _say something_ and won't take no for an answer, but Derek says, "Stiles, what the _hell_ ," before he can even get started, circling around the counter and looming up close.

"I'm fine," says Stiles. "That's not what I want to talk about."

"No?" says Derek mildly, so mild and dangerous it makes Stiles swallow, which makes something vicious and victorious swell inside Derek. "Because that's what we're _going_ to talk about."

"It's _nothing_ ," says Stiles, and that makes Derek grab him by the front of his shirt and shove him up against the counter, glaring. Eyes flashing, too, he's pretty sure. Thank God no one else is in the shop right now, because he probably would've done this anyway, with Stiles walking in all messed up and saying it's _nothing_ , like someone hurting him and marking him is _nothing._

"Who did this?" growls Derek.

Stiles sighs. "Some douche at college, okay, it's not even-- it was Scott, I mean, the dude was being a dick to Scott, and then he tried to rough him up, so I helped out." He sticks his chin out.

"Looks like you did a lot of damage," says Derek dryly, uncurling one hand from Stiles' shirt to swipe a thumb over the blossoming bruise around his eye.

Stiles lets out a breath. "Fuck you," he says. "I totally could've messed him up."

Derek raises an eyebrow.

"I'm pretty sure I accidentally elbowed him in the kidneys?" says Stiles.

Derek snorts. "Okay," he says. "But just-- don't do that, it's not-- you're gonna get yourself in trouble."

"And you're not?" says Stiles, eyes flashing. "Running around pushing away anyone who might care about you, might be good for you, might _help_ you?"

"I can handle myself," hisses Derek.

"So can I," says Stiles, glaring.

Derek glares back, hands tightening again in Stiles' shirt. "I don't believe you," he says eventually.

"Yeah, well, I don't believe _you_ ," says Stiles.

They stare at each other for a long moment, and Stiles breaks first, sighing a little and letting his muscles go loose. He's been biting on his lip, and shit, the split has started bleeding again.

"Here," growls Derek, letting him go to shove a handful of napkins in his face.

"Mmph," says Stiles, gathering them up and pressing them against his mouth.

He sits down and looks at Derek over the napkins, pulling them away after a while.

"Look," he says. "Maybe I can't handle myself _completely._ But you can't either, dude, you shouldn't have to, so, I don't know. Can we just-- compromise on that?"

"How?" says Derek.

Stiles shrugs. "No idea," he says. "We'll figure it out."

"I," says Derek, frowning. "Yeah, maybe."

"Okay," says Stiles. " _Now_ can we talk about-- "

"No," says Derek. "Go home, put some ice on your face."

Stiles' face goes stormy again.

"If you think I-- "

"I will _make_ you," says Derek, low and threatening. "I can actually rip a man's throat out with my teeth, you know that, right?"

Stiles stares at him, eyes wide. "Fine," he snaps, and adds, "Fuck you, asshole, you have serious fucking problems," before the door closes behind him.

 

"What's wrong, little bro?" says Laura, frowning when she comes out of the kitchen and catches Derek glaring at the coffee machine.

"Nothing," says Derek shortly.

Laura rolls her eyes. "Even if you could lie to another werewolf, you can't lie for shit, so spill."

Derek scowls. "Stiles is a dumbass, no big deal."

"Right," says Laura. "You totally look like it's no big deal."

Derek sighs. He should've told her the other night; she is his Alpha, after all, but it'd been-- it was dumb, like he wanted to have it for himself just a little longer, all that fascination, all _Stiles'_ heady fascination, aimed directly at him. "Stiles found out," he says, shrugging.

"What?" says Laura, stepping forward. "When? _How?_ "

"The other night at the grocery," says Derek. "He was-- he was being mugged, and I-- "

"Hey, okay," says Laura. "It's-- well. He didn't take it well?"

"He thinks it's the coolest thing ever," says Derek, rolling his eyes.

"So what's the problem?" says Laura.

"It's-- it's nothing, okay, just drop it," snaps Derek, because that _is_ his, and he doesn't have to talk about it if he doesn't want to.

She'd just tell him he was being stupid, anyway, maybe suggest therapy again; nothing he doesn't already know.

Nothing he's ever been able to push away the guilt and the awful, learned fear long enough to fix.

Laura narrows her eyes. "If you haven't fixed it in twenty-four hours," she says, "I'm intervening. Fair warning."

Derek glares at her, but she just looks right back and folds her arms, and eventually he sighs.

"Whatever," he mumbles.

 

He's out the back of the shop, working on the Camaro, when Stiles finds him.

He doesn't even say anything this time, just sits down with his back against the side of the car and tips his head back, face turned towards the sun, eyes closed.

Derek stares at him for a moment, frowning, heart beating way harder than he'd like, and when Stiles doesn't move or say anything, goes back to working on the engine, hands deliberately steady.

Stiles just keeps on sitting there, and the silence stretches until Derek can't take it anymore, which is just so-- so _odd,_ because Derek's never hated silence before, ever.

"It was Kate," he says abruptly.

Stiles startles and opens his eyes, blinking slowly at Derek.

Derek meets his gaze for a long moment before ducking back under the hood.

"It was-- I was fifteen," he says to his hands. "I started dating this-- older woman. Her name was Kate. I didn't know it then, but she belonged to an old hunter family. I fell in love with her, and she burned my family alive."

Stiles doesn't say anything, and when Derek chances a look, he's staring at Derek, mouth open.

Derek looks away, jaw tight.

"Derek," whispers Stiles eventually, curling a hand around his ankle.

Derek freezes, and holds very, very still, breathing out through his mouth. He's not sure whether this is the closest he's ever come to breaking apart, or the most whole he's felt in twelve years.

Stiles' thumb brushes over the protruding bone in Derek's ankle, and it's strangely fitting, the way such a small thing is what finally sends the breath rushing out of him. He sinks down to sit next to Stiles with his back against the car, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes.

Stiles curls a tentative hand over his knee instead, and he says, "What happened to Kate?"

Derek shrugs, eyes still closed. "Nothing," he says.

"What?" says Stiles. "But you can't just-- she can't just _get away_ with-- "

"Stiles," says Derek, opening his eyes. Stiles' eyes are distant, mouth working furiously. "Don't."

"Don't what?" says Stiles, looking at him sharply.

Derek's mouth twitches. "Whatever you're thinking," he says. "Don't. It's not worth it."

" _You're_ worth it," says Stiles fiercely, flushing a little. "She should _pay_ , Derek."

Derek swallows. "She will," he says firmly, folding his hand over Stiles' on his knee.

Stiles breathes out, staring down at their hands. "Yeah," he says. "Okay."

"Okay," says Derek.

"Thanks for telling me," says Stiles, after a silence. "You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did," says Derek. He can't really explain why, but it's-- it's true.

Stiles glances at him quickly, then away, face unreadable, for once. "Hey," he says, after another moment. "Wanna come over for takeout tonight?"

Derek glances at him.

"It's not pity," says Stiles quickly. "Or charity or anything. I have more questions."

Derek quirks a smile, huffing out a quiet laugh. "Well, in that case," he says.

Stiles grins and knocks his ankle against Derek's.

 

He leaves Derek to finish up with the Camaro, but it's a lost cause; Derek can't focus at all.

Which is weird, because usually working on the car _helps_ him focus.

He goes for a run instead, around the familiar blocks until even he feels exhausted, then comes back to shower and change before he goes to Stiles' place.

It feels careful, almost new, like a-- like a _date_ , or something.

He doesn't know where they stand, exactly, but he can't deny he doesn't want that.

Even if he _shouldn't_ , even if it's still a bad idea.

But maybe-- fuck, he doesn't know. He just needs to _get_ there, first.

Stiles smiles brightly, devastatingly, when he opens the door, and says, "Hey," stepping back to let Derek in. "Scott's out," he adds. "Date night with Allison."

"Cool?" says Derek inanely, and Stiles laughs.

"It is," he says. "He's a pain when he's pining for her, you may have noticed."

"Can you pine for someone you're already dating?" says Derek, sitting down on the couch.

"Scott can," says Stiles, dropping down next to him. "Dude's talented like that."

Derek just snorts.

Stiles throws him a grin, and says, "Iron Man? I have the new one. Also I got Chinese, hope that's okay."

"It's fine," says Derek.

"Cool," says Stiles. "Hang on."

He goes to the kitchen and comes back with an armful of takeout containers, which he dumps on the coffee table, and then goes to set up the DVD.

Derek digs in, figuring Stiles will tell him if it's something he wants to eat.

Stiles just looks pleased, though, and grabs one of the boxes at random as he sits back down.

Derek sets his now-empty container down after a while, settling back into the couch. "You said you had questions?" he says, glancing at Stiles.

Stiles looks at him. "You trying to get out of here quick?"

Derek doesn't answer, just kicks him lightly.

"Okay, no, I do, actually," says Stiles, sitting up straighter.

"Okay," says Derek.

Stiles breathes out, like he's steeling himself, which is-- slightly odd.

"So dude," says Stiles, "Derek, you need to tell me, okay, because if I'm gonna have to get over you I want to start working on it as soon as possible. And like, I'm pretty sure you like me? But then sometimes you look at me like you _hate_ me, and sometimes like-- like being around me causes you actual physical pain. I can't figure out whether that's good or bad, either."

Derek stares, unclenching his hands slowly from where they've apparently gotten curled up against his thighs. He sighs. "I want to shake you sometimes," he says, because it's true, and he doesn't even think it's a bad thing-- he's never wanted someone who doesn't challenge him. Stiles isn't easy and Derek doesn't want him to be. "But I want to kiss you all the time."

"Oh," says Stiles quietly, the shape of his mouth echoing the sound. He looks like he might be starting to smile too though, and he adds, "So you-- you want this?"

"I." Derek scrubs a hand through his hair. "I can't, I can't do-- relationships. I just-- "

Stiles tilts his head. "Kate screwed you over real bad, huh?" he says.

Derek laughs bitterly. "You could say that."

"But-- but that was a long time ago, right?" says Stiles hesitantly. "Like, you've changed, you've grown up, even if you think you haven't. And I'm-- I'm not trying to talk myself up or anything, but just-- you know me." He spreads his arms wide. "This is me, this is it, I'm not hiding anything, and if you still wanna kiss me after having all that shoved in your face, that's-- I think that's worth something, you know?" He bites down on his lip.

Derek just stares at him, and thinks about how it's been over ten years since Kate, and how closed-off and wary he's been, and how-- how he still _trusts_ Stiles, somehow, without consciously having to force himself into it, but he just knows, deep down in his bones, that Stiles has his back. That maybe Derek can't quite handle himself alone, not as well as he thinks, and Stiles can't handle himself, but they can handle each other.

Maybe it's something to do with the way his eyes had lit up and he'd stepped closer to Derek, not away, when Derek told him about being a werewolf. How even before that Stiles had just felt-- felt _right_ , and he hadn't proven Derek's instincts wrong when Derek showed him who he really was. He doesn't know, but he knows that Stiles, against all logic, makes him _happy_ , and he wants that, suddenly, achingly-- he _wants_ that. And fuck Kate, fuck her, he doesn't want her to take anything else from him.

He's never felt more angry at her than guilty over his own stupidity before.

Never felt more hopeful it might be okay than terrified it might go wrong.

So that's-- he thinks that's kind of huge.

"Yeah," he says eventually, barely above a whisper.

The corner of Stiles' mouth curls up. "Yeah?" he says hopefully.

Derek turns his body so he's facing Stiles properly, and says, "Come here, Stiles."

"Fuck yes," whispers Stiles, crawling awkwardly onto his lap and letting Derek cup his face between his hands, tilting his face up so sweetly so Derek can kiss him.

He's careful, because Stiles' lip is still split, coaxing him open slow and soft, and Stiles' eyes flutter like his heartbeat against Derek's chest, and he makes this delicious little broken noise into Derek's mouth, pressing himself as close as he can get.

Derek lets him, because Stiles can take it, and because he can't not.

Stiles runs his fingertips up along Derek's sides, dropping down to tickle under the hem of his shirt, over the skin on his hips, and Derek groans into his mouth, hands tightening.

"If you run away on me now," mumbles Stiles, sliding away a little to worry is teeth into the corner of Derek's mouth.

"Not gonna," says Derek. "Get back here."

Stiles grins and does, pressing his mouth hot and messy against Derek's.

Derek slides one hand up to brush over the bruise still framing his eye, and Stiles hisses.

"You're just as fucked up as me, aren't you?" whispers Derek harshly.

He doesn't mean it as an insult.

"Maybe," says Stiles. "I'm getting better, though. Shoulda seen me back in Beacon Hills."

Derek hums, ducking his head to mouth at Stiles' neck, sucking lightly, then harder when Stiles shivers and tilts his head, giving Derek more access, inviting him.

"Oh," groans Stiles. "Yeah, fuck."

"You like that?" murmurs Derek.

" _Yes_ , asshole," says Stiles. "I like _you_. Getting that yet?"

Derek smirks and drops a hand to press over Stiles' dick, hot and hard against his fly.

Stiles hisses, head falling back.

"Yeah," says Derek, stroking lightly. "I'm getting that."

"Asshole," mutters Stiles again. "I need-- need you naked, come on."

"I can do that," says Derek, letting Stiles go reluctantly to strip his shirt off.

"Fuck," says Stiles, staring. Derek opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, because Stiles ducks in immediately to get his mouth on Derek's collarbone. "Thought about this," he mumbles, sliding his mouth down to worry at one of Derek's nipples. "Jerked off to this, fuck."

"You-- " says Derek stupidly, tangling a hand in Stiles' hair.

Stiles groans and jerks back up to kiss his mouth, frantic now, so fucking dirty.

"Stiles," growls Derek, tugging him away by the hair.

Stiles blinks at him. His pupils are so blown, his mouth so swollen. He looks like _sin._

Like everything Derek wants, holy shit.

"You too," says Derek, pulling at the hem of Stiles' shirt.

"Oh," says Stiles. "Yeah, okay."

He lets Derek pull it off, and flushes a little when Derek just stares, because-- fuck, his moles go all over, dotting his smooth skin everywhere Derek wants to get his mouth.

He makes a strangled noise and shoves Stiles, getting him sprawled out and breathless on his back, and looms over him, dipping his head to tongue at a particularly delicious-looking mole nestled in the crevice of his neck and shoulder. Stiles moans and arches up into him.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Fuck, Derek."

"What do you want?" says Derek, hoarse.

"I-- you," says Stiles blankly. " _Anything_ , Derek, please."

"Okay," says Derek, tonguing slowly over Stiles' chest. Stiles writhes beneath him, and Derek grabs onto his wrists, pinning them above his head, which makes Stiles' eyes go wide.

"Okay?" says Derek again.

"Yeah," breathes Stiles.

"I want-- " Derek pauses, hesitates. He wants everything. "I'm gonna blow you," he decides in the end, because God, tasting Stiles, getting him in his mouth-- he wants that _now_.

"Oh, fuck," says Stiles on a breath, shivering. He's so hard against Derek's thigh.

Derek takes his time, because he wants to enjoy this, this is-- this is _important_ , and he wants it to be good for Stiles. He deserves that. Maybe-- maybe they both do.

He lets go of Stiles' wrists, whispering, "Keep them there," meeting Stiles' eyes until Stiles nods, and then trails his mouth over Stiles' chest, scraping his teeth over his nipples, which makes him jerk. His skin is so hot, and Derek gets his mouth all over it, sucking purple-red marks, trailing his fingers over them afterwards, down slowly until his lips are pressed to the soft skin just above his waistband. Stiles is twisting and gasping desperately beneath him, so Derek gets his hands on his hips, pressing down to still him.

"I hate you," groans Stiles. "Come _on_."

Derek shoots a smirk up at him. He feels just as desperate as Stiles looks, but he hasn't quite lost control, not yet.

It's easier, when it's for Stiles.

"Derek," says Stiles.

"Yeah," breathes Derek, moving his hands to get Stiles' jeans undone, tugging them down around his thighs.

He presses his mouth, open and wet, to the base of Stiles' dick, just tasting, enjoying the feel.

Stiles gasps out a broken noise, twitching.

He's so fucking hard, leaking already, and he tastes-- he tastes _gorgeous,_ heady and musky and so intimate, so himself, Derek can't help the groan that escapes him as he licks up over the vein and sucks hard on the soaked head before just swallowing him down.

Stiles makes a strangled noise, back bowing, putting his weight onto his wrists so he's not tempted to move them, which is-- fuck, it's so hot. Someday Derek wants to tie him up properly, tease him until he's flushed all over, sobbing and begging and wrecked.

"Oh, shit," he gasps wetly. "Derek, _fuck_ , fuck, so good."

Derek palms up over his hips again, keeping him from pushing up too far.

The way Stiles is shaking, falling apart under his hands; Derek doesn't think he's going to last too long, and he's glad, because he probably won't either, and they have time now.

Another time, to make it last.

Stiles comes down his throat, shouting loud and shameless, and Derek swallows it all, letting go of Stiles' hips so he can push the last wrenches of his orgasm into Derek's mouth as hard as he wants. It's great, so great, and Derek takes a moment to breathe when he pulls off, pressing his face against Stiles' stomach. Stiles' hand floats absently to his hair, and he gasps wetly at the ceiling for a minute before he's tugging, pulling Derek up and then scrambling forward so he can twist himself up in Derek's legs, sort of half in his lap, and stick a hand down his pants.

" _Fuck_ , Stiles," groans Derek. "You forget how a fly works?"

"Mmm, takes too long," says Stiles, curling his hand around Derek's dick as best he can.

Derek grins helplessly against his hair, sliding a hand over his spine.

"Come on," he says, undoing the button on his jeans with the other, tugging the zip down.

" _You_ come on," says Stiles, biting at his mouth, messy and uncoordinated. "Or just _come_."

Derek laughs on a moan, pushing into Stiles' fist.

"Fuck yeah," breathes Stiles against his mouth, jerking faster now he has room. "Come on, Derek, wanna see you come, been thinking about it, don't make me wait."

"You're such a-- _fuck_ \-- such a little shit," gasps Derek, biting down on Stiles' bottom lip.

Stiles grins, bright and dirty. "Wanna blow you so bad," he whispers, and Derek closes his eyes.

Stiles twists his wrist, thumbing over the head of Derek's cock, slick now, so hard, and Derek slides his hand further up Stiles' back, clutching the back of his neck hard.

"That's it," breathes Stiles. "Come on, come _on_ , Derek-- "

Derek shudders and comes, wrenched right out of his spine, dirtying up Stiles' hand and tucking his face into Stiles warm, damp neck, hips pushing it out slowly into Stiles' loosened fist.

"Yeah," whispers Stiles, stroking him slowly until Derek makes a hurt noise and he lets go.

"Fuck," says Derek, when he feels a little less broken apart, pulling back and opening his eyes.

"That was awesome," says Stiles. "Right? Totally awesome."

"Yes, Stiles," says Derek, rolling his eyes. Then, quieter, "Yeah, it was awesome."

Stiles' smile softens, and he leans in to kiss Derek slowly. "Stay?" he says.

"I-- okay," says Derek, because fuck, he wants to.

"Good," says Stiles. He stretches, and Derek swallows, staring. "Shower, come on."

"Don't wanna watch the movie?" says Derek, smirking.

"Honestly, I'm more interested in seeing you naked and wet," says Stiles.

Derek grins. "Oh yeah?" he says, scraping his teeth lightly over Stiles' lips.

"Mmm," says Stiles. "And blowing you, and getting your dick in me, and about a million other things than Iron Man. That okay with you, sour wolf?"

"Sour wolf?" says Derek, raising his eyebrows.

"Suits you," says Stiles, smirking.

Derek pinches his side and says, "Fine, shower," like a threat.

Stiles just grins, of course, eyes flashing, and says, "Bring it."


End file.
